


Only Skeletons Remain

by lubilu17



Category: Hamilton-Miranda
Genre: Angst, Drugs, F/F, F/M, I might just tag things as I go along, Laf and a Peggy own a bar, M/M, Mafia AU, and they like to kill others, lots of death, lots of sad people, non-binary Lafayette, none of these people are good people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lubilu17/pseuds/lubilu17
Summary: People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.George OrwellThere's no random shooting into the dark anymore, every move is calculated and presice, no chance to miss. You can kill a revolutionary but you can never kill the revolution..





	1. No Martyrs Cause Has Ever Been Stopped By An Assassins Bullet

Glancing over his shoulder at the group on the street corner, he turned swiftly into a nearby diner. The shortest if the men on the corner started to walk towards the door before being pulled back by the collar of his jacket and round the corner, the rest of the group following the pair. He watched with little interest as they crossed the street without looking back at him. 

 

A waitress led him towards a table in the back corner of the diner and flashed him a toothy grin as she handed him a menu. It was only as he sat in his seat did he take in the diner he had entered. Fluorescent lights shone on skin giving every customer a waxy sheen on their face, the clock above the counter seemed almost frozen, waitresses in a never-ending cycle of pouring coffee and serving meals to customers. The photos on the wall could almost be family photos, a group of four men with arms round each other, one bald with the ghost of a smile gracing his lips, a taller boy with his face scrunched up in a laugh, a freckled boy gazing at the final boy with adoration in his eyes, another showed the three younger boys all sleeping on a patch of grass.

 

With his eyes darting around he took in the appearance of the other customers, there was a couple on the table in front of him almost completely ignoring each other, one engrossed in his book, the other scrolling absent-mindedly through his phone. A group of three girls surrounded another table closer to the bar pouring over what looked like a map of the city, tourist obviously. Out of the corner of his eye he stared at the man at the table next to him who looked to be pointedly avoiding meeting his gaze.

 

The same waitress from earlier brought his food to his table and as her hand moved from the table, her fingers traced the symbol on his wrist, staring into his eyes as she nodded and gave him a small, secretive smile. His own fingers danced along the metal that rested in his hip nervously as if he was in a place he shouldn't have been. 

 

The man reading on the table in front hadn't turned a page in over five minutes, the three girls had all paused, none of them looking at their map anymore. But the man next to him had not moved an inch.

 

It was only then he noticed the piece of paper sticking out from under the plate, slowly unfolding it he read the words that had been neatly printed onto the scrap of paper. Then he heard it. He heard the click of the safety being taken off, then felt the coldness if the gun barrel being pressed against his temple. He turned his head slightly to see that he man from the table next to him holding the gun. 

 

Then darkness.

 

John didn't even flinch as the man collapsed by his side, John's hand directing him to fall head first onto the table and not the plastic bench. It'd be easier to clean the blood off the table, his brain supplied helpfully. The blood had started to spread across the mans shirt, staining it an even darker red, trailing down his arms, covering the crown shaped brand on his wrist. 

 

Joseph Brant was dead, a careless mistake by one of Kings best men, a careless mistake which led to another death and John's hands, a careless mistake which could have been the start of a war. 

 

There hadn't meant to be another death today in their territory, but when one of the underbosses of the rival family walks into your diner they don't usually walk out unscathed. Just because there hasn't meant to be another death in their territory today doesn't mean there wasn't supposed to be another death today, he still had to go further downtown to complete his list, his hit list. 

 

He watched as the waitress' moved Brant's body to the back room where they'd maybe call Martha Washington to look over the body, maybe they'd send his head back to King, maybe they'd just make his disappear never to be seen again. John would most definitely never see the body again, he never did. How could he spend time with a man who died at his hand? How could he look a corpse in its eyes knowing that it was his fault they were dead? How could he do this? 

 

Blood dripped slowly off the table, starting to pool round John's boot. As he stood up the blood smudged across the linoleum tiles creating almost perfect, bloody footprints across the floor. 

 

This was his job. This was his destiny. This was what was needed. This was the right thing to do. 

 

 

Aaron is at the cemetery again. He has his routine; spend the day with Washington, Montgomery or in his office, then if they're lucky get dinner (or something that resembles a dinner) with Alex, Lafayette and John, then it was the hour long subway trip down to Flatbush, the girl in the flower shop, Theodosia, knew Aaron well by now, knew exactly what he wanted, no not what he wanted, this was never what he could have wanted, she knew exactly what he needed, after the flower shop he'd finally make it to the cemetery. This was his routine every weekday for the past six months. 

 

Placing the flowers on the headstone Aaron looked around at the surrounding trees, the greens as familiar as a lovers embrace yet still muted by sorrow. Every colour was muted in the cemetery, not just the green, a sea of grey headstones, blue, red and yellow flowers tinged with brown as they slowly decay. 

 

Just because he came here almost every day never made this easier, never made mourning easy, never made life easier. He would sit and read his case notes to the cold stone, read how he'd had to have cleared one of Thomas's men of a drug charge, acting as if he didn't know that the man was guilty, how he'd have to support John or Lafayette in court if they ever got caught. It never got easier reading the name or the dates on the stone, nothing about it ever got easier. It wasn't like reading to him when he was alive, no that was the most beautiful of interactions, the way he'd raise an eyebrow at Aaron as he recounted a day in court, lips curled into a slight smile, fingers roaming Aaron's sides, pressing kisses to the back of his neck.

 

On days he had not been in his office, he'd tell the stone stories of his friends and family. Tell the story of John's latest kill. Tell the story of Lafayette's last victim. Tell the story of Thomas's newest drug he'd brought in. Tell the story Washington's new plans. Tell the story of how they gained new territory. Tell the story of how they lived on without him.

 

Aaron is at the cemetery again. He's at the cemetery for what seems like the millionth time in the past five months. God, had it only been five months? Five months without lingering kisses in the back of a meeting, five months without nights spent lazily drinking whatever they had in their apartment straight out of the bottle, five months of never having to worry about whether he'd be coming home at night. It's seemed to Aaron that through all of this that was the only positive, that he never had to worry about whether he'd see his boyfriend again.

 

It's a picture perfect place for a grave, secluded and surrounded by trees, the kind of thing found on some kind of morbid, grotesque postcard. It's the kind of thing he'd have like when he was alive, the juxtaposition of the beauty of the area against the horror of the emotions felt in the place. It's the kind of thing that would cause a controversy, well known criminal lawyer Aaron Burr with his forehead resting in the cold gravestone of not so well known underboss Hercules Mulligan.


	2. Power is Not a Means, it is an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Washington was not a good man, but he was a honourable man. He was honourable and loyal to his soldiers. If he was honourable to his soldiers then maybe he didn't have to be a good man.
> 
>  
> 
> Here comes the General.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The name of Peggy and Laf's bar is actually the name of one of the revolutionary battles.
> 
> Fun fact 2.0- GWash is an ass in this. Sorry

They moved in perfect harmony, dancing around each other as they poured drinks and served customers, both making customers laugh and smile, Peggy with her razor sharp wit and Lafayette with a perfectly arched eyebrow and a wink as they passed shots to he customers. They were a well oiled machine having worked the same shifts since Saratoga had been established. Lafayette made eye contact with Alexander from across the room, the two of them had already been informed by John of his latest kill to which Lafayette was silently celebrating, anyone would do if the man who killed your best friend was dead. As much as he was celebrating he knew Washington would be annoyed at John, no not annoyed, he'd be livid. Their fingers twitched as they poured shot after shot, twitched for something, maybe from Thomas if they could get hold of him tonight, maybe just the pure adrenaline from a fight, the feel of blood under their fingernails, the feel of truly wanting to cause a person pain.

Peggy was looking at them strangely as they mixed up drink after drink, after so long she'd gained what Lafayette called her sixth sense, the sense to tell when ever Lafayette needed to take some time off to calm down and recalibrate their mind and body, to make them work like a human again.

Leaving her to take all of the orders, Lafayette wound a ribbon around their patrons on their way to the back door of the club. Barely taking notice of the concerned looks given to them by their friends, by Alexander, by Peggy, by James, but not by Hercules, never by Hercules, not anymore. 

John gave him a painless death, and even if Lafayette themself had given the order to kill Brant if any of their soldiers had found him in the street, they wished they were the one to find him. Wished they'd met him in one of the bars all over the city, wished they'd met him in a back alley, wished they'd been the one to kill him. Felt the splitting skin against their knuckles, the blood against his face and body, felt the life leave his body. John was painless and efficient, something that Lafayette loved about him, but Lafayette wanted Brant to suffer to feel as much pain as Hercules must have done in his last moments. 

It was as they were lifting their lighter to the cigarette held between their plum coloured lips when they felt hands snake round their waist, spinning round in one fluid, well practiced movement they slammed the heel of their palm into their attackers nose, panic rising up. 

"Fucking hell! Lafayette you don't need to do that every fucking time anybody does anything to you!" Alex snarled as he stumbled backwards bringing his hands up to his now bleeding nose. 

"Well have you ever thought to not creep up behind a person in a dark alley. Especially when they have been trained to kill a person." They replied smoothly, only letting a tinge of malice enter their voice, "Mon cher I am truly sorry," reaching up to help Alex with the blood, "My only thoughts were on Hercules and how he was found in a alley like this and then you surprised me and I'm sorry." 

"It's fine, I should have realised, I'm sorry. I'm going to sort this out in the bathroom, then I'm taking you home, you need to sleep" 

"Fine. Washington will want to see us all tomorrow."

Alex hummed as he backed out of the alley leaving Lafayette alone with their thoughts. Their thoughts of bloodied bodies, broken noses and dark alleyways. 

 

George Washington was not a good man. He knew this of course. How could you be a good man if you controlled assassinations, drug deals and part of the courts? No George Washington was not a good man, but he was a honourable man. He was honourable and loyal to his soldiers. If he was honourable to his soldiers then maybe he didn't have to be a good man. These were the thoughts that were running through his head as he eyed the despair and adoration in Lafayette's eyes down the table they were sat at. These were the things running through his head as he stared at the empty seat beside Lafayette, a position not yet filled.

Aside from their eyes Lafayette showed no emotion, their lips drawn into a thin line, deep green nails tapping on the table, one hand entwined with Alexander's. Whilst Lafayette was a picture of neutrality, having had time to process the fact that Brant was dead, the other faces round the table showed relief, showed joy, showed fear. Fear of a war starting. Washington feared the same thing, feared that King would come and try to murder them all in their sleep. 

George Washington was a honourable man and knew what to tell his soldiers. Knew how to quell their fears. Knew how to make them respect him and to not question him. Joseph Brant was dead and there was nothing they could do now until King declared war. 

It was easy to listen to the underbosses as they all shouted their opinions at him, it was easy to listen to their opinions if he already had a plan of action, his own way to wage war.

"We have to leave it, pretend it wasn't us, dump the body somewhere else." Adams, with his fists clenched on the wooden table, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

Washington felt the phone in his pocket vibrate almost unnoticeably but did not dare check it.

"Of course they'll know it was us, who else would kill he man that killed Hercules?" Knox, to the right of the empty chair, almost shouted as both Lafayette and Alexander flinched.

At this everybody else at the table started to shout their positions on the topic.

"We don't have the money-"

"-We're family, we ain't leavin' anyone to die-"

"We could lose money from our customers if they're all dead, Boss-"

"Ain't no one gonna mess with this family."

"No one else can die, Boss, you can't let that happen-"

"-Let me tell you it ain't gonna be the Redcoats blood running through the streets it's gonna be ours-"

"SILENCE! SILENCE ALL OF YOU," Washington rose from his place at the end of the table, eyes burning "now I know Laurens' actions may have put us all on the brink of war. But, we will wait, we will wait until King is at his lowest and most vengeful, then we will strike."

Protests began to forms from every side of the table to which Washington silenced with just his hand.

"We did not declare war after the murder of Mulligan so why would we declare was now, we will wait. You are all dismissed. Get out now." 

He waited until all of his soldiers had filed out before checking the phone in his pocket.

Unknown number: King is out for blood, you'd better all be ready for it. I've never seen him like this, not in the five months I've been with him.

George Washington was not a good man, but he knew what to tell his soldiers. George Washington was not a good man, but his soldiers all believed his stories. George Washington was not a good man, he knew that as they lowered an empty coffin into the ground in a nondescript graveyard in Flatbush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	3. Hurtful secrets are better of kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet part of the Schuyler Sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls enjoy

Angelica prided herself on her ability to stay out of any sort of trouble that came with working for George Washington and his gang. She also prided herself with the fact that every morning she woke up in the apartment she shared with her sisters knowing that her day would be relatively melancholy, no blood, no violence, no murder, nothing that wasn't out of he ordinary, just her and her numbers, with the odd addition of Jefferson with his new figures. On a good day there would be no bloodshed on either side, no having to work out how much that lost them or helped them gain, on a bad day a dealer would go out of commission, cutting off a source of income.

It wasn't an ideal job, but it kept her close to her sisters and get them enough money to live happily. It also gave her other skills, such as being able to shoot a mans head from fifty feet, how to not flinch at dead bodies anymore, no matter how much she wanted to. It helped her become the perfect actress, able to take the role of anyone in the city, gave her complete anonymity. Gave her the ability to sit in a cafe playing the role of a confused tourist and then watch John Laurens shoot Joseph Brant in the head, it gave her the ability to care for Lafayette or Aaron when they fell apart. These were the this he reminded herself of on days like this where noting was coming to mind and everything seemed like it was going to hell.

Nothing was coming to her, the numbers on the page all blurred together into one black smudge. No, she reminded herself this wasn't just numbers, this was money, people's lives, their work. Money from Thomas's dealers, money from Aaron's cases (not that he was really making much at the moment), money from Peggy and Lafayette's bar.

"$600 from Thomas," she muttered under her breath marking the numbers onto her spreadsheet "$800 from Aaron," marking the next set of numbers down "and nothing from Peggy yet, of course not, why would I expect anything different?"

She was broken from her trance by a slight knock on the door, turning her head ever so slightly to see her sister, Eliza sticking her head round the frame, black hair covering half of her face.

"I'm meeting Martha today to talk about what to do with Brant's body, do you need anything from her?" Eliza's voice was calming, melodic.

"Martha Washington I assume you're talking about?"

"Of course."

"Then no, but Martha Manning and I are seeing each other tonight."

A slight laugh from Eliza, "Peggy'll kill you if she gets hurt or something."

"And what would I be doing to her girlfriend that'd get her killed?" Angelica said with a snort.

"Don't ask me, but we both know how protective of Martha she can get." Eliza murmured finally stepping into the room and coming to rest her hands on Angelica's shoulders, "You've written that 16784 plus 500 is 17484 when it should be 17284. Get some sleep Angel, these aren't going anywhere." Pressing a kiss to Angelica's temple Eliza left the room with a slight smile painted on her face.

She sighed, ran a hand through her hair exasperatedly and managed to stumble through their apartment, almost tripping over a blanket that someone, probably Peggy, had left on the floor by her bedroom door. Eliza was right she should sleep, try to forget what she did, who she worked for, what she was hiding from her friends and family. She thought of all of the burnt notes, private emails and broken phones. The meetings in back alleys, faces illuminated only by street lights, whispered words. The looking behind their shoulders every meeting, only meeting in neutral areas, neutral areas where none would recognise either of the pair.

The girl, whose hair was almost permanently tied in a ponytail, with her hair curled round her shoulders. The girl, who almost never wore black, head to toe in the colour of the shadows. The girl, who always carried her handbag with everything a person could need in, carried only a gun. The man, who once wore the blue coat of a revolution, covered by the red coat of a loyalist. The man, whose face used to be permanently in a smile, scowled at everything. The man, once living happily with his partner, who had to give everything behind. She hadn't seen him smile since he had been sent off, not once. He'd never greeted her warmly like he used to do.

These thoughts haunted her as she tried to sleep, the thought of haunted eyes, eyes that had probably seen things she couldn't even dream up in the five months he'd been away. She'd known King was ruthless, cruel, but never had she thought he'd be cruel enough to break Hercules Mulligan, the man who she knew had a list of murder victims almost as high as Lafayette's.

Aaron and Lafayette were mourning the man they believed had died that night in the alley; Angelica was mourning the man she knew had died in the months since.

 

Hours after her pitiful attempt at sleeping, Angelica managed to drag herself out of their apartment to go meet Martha. Getting around had become easier since working for Washington, knowing that there was someone who worked with her in the space of two blocks, someone in subway stations, someone in street corners. It all meant she could almost stop looking behind her every time she turned a corner.

She finally got to her destination after twenty minutes of subway rides and a ten minutes walk, a tiny coffee shop in the north of the city, set back from the street, quiet enough for them to meet in secret. Though it did help that the cafe was technically owned by the Washingtons. Spotting Martha already sat in one of the booths by the window, with two coffees in front of her, Angelica made her way over to the seat opposite the woman in the booth.

"We've arrested one of Thomas's dealers up in Hudson Heights," Martha said in lieu of greeting, " you should tell them to be more careful."

Angelica slammed her hand onto the table in response, the heads of other patrons turning to look at the pair before returning to their own conversations.

"This wasn't something you could've told me over the phone earlier in the day? When Aaron was still working maybe?" Angelica hissed across the table into Martha's face.

"I'm sorry that I've been trying to contact Aaron all day, you're not the only person I talk to. Also I have an actual job to do so people don't get suspicious about how I always work on the gang cases. Not everything is always about you Angelica."

"Oh I'm sorry how I forgot how entitled you are Miss Police Detective."

"Jesus Angelica, I'm doing you a favour, I could have left it for you to find out when all your profits decrease." Martha drained her drink and stood up, grabbing her bag as she stood. As she turned to leave Angelica grabbed her wrist.

"You never told me who you'd arrested."

Martha paused as if deciding whether or not to tell Angelica who'd it was.

"James Madison."

" _Oh shit_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my heart sing!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that it's not great but I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Comments make my cold, dead heart sing joyfully.


End file.
